Six Graves to Munich - Mario Cleri [26]
Bailey gave him a long intimidating stare; then, in obvious mockery, he bowed and clicked his heels together. “Bailey,” he said. “And we are going to take this man down to the Halle.”
The doctor gave him a look of contempt. “I can click my heels together louder than you when I am barefooted, you poor imitation of a Prussian aristocrat. But that is beside the point. I forbid you to move this man because he is ill; his health will be severely endangered. I do not think you can afford to disregard my warnings.”
Rogan could see that the three men were baffled. He was, too. Why the hell was this doctor sticking his neck out for him?
Bailey said sarcastically, “Will it kill him if I ask him a few questions right here and now?”
“No,” said the doctor, “but it will tire him.”
Bailey made an impatient gesture and turned his lanky frame toward Rogan. “Your visas for travel in Germany are being revoked,” he said. “I’ve had that arranged. I don’t care what you do in any other country, but I want you out of my territory. Don’t try to come back with phony papers. I’ll have my eye on you as long as you’re in Europe. Right now you can thank this doctor for saving your ass.” Bailey walked out of the bedroom, the two German detectives followed, and Rosalie ushered all three out of the suite.
Rogan grinned at the doctor. “Is it true—I really can’t be moved?”
The young doctor stroked his beard. “Of course. However, you may move yourself, since then there would be no psychological stress on your nervous system.” He smiled at Rogan. “I dislike seeing healthy men, especially policemen, bully sick people. I don’t know what you are up to, but I’m on your side.”
Rosalie saw the doctor to the door, then came back and sat on the bed. Rogan put his hand over hers. “Do you still want to stay with me?” he asked. She nodded. “Then pack all our things,” Rogan said. “We’ll leave for Munich. I want to meet Klaus von Osteen before the others. He’s the most important one.”
Rosalie bowed her head to his. “They will kill you after all,” she said.
Rogan kissed her. “That’s why I have to take care of von Osteen first. I want to make sure of him. I don’t mind so much if the other two get away.” He gave her a gentle push. “Start packing,” he said.
They caught a morning flight to Munich and checked into a small pension where Rogan hoped they might not be noticed. He knew that Bailey and the German police would trace him to Munich, but it would take them a few days to discover his whereabouts. By then his mission would be completed and he would be out of the country.
He rented a small Opel while Rosalie went to the library to read up on von Osteen in the newspaper file and to locate his home address.
When they met for dinner, Rosalie had a full report. Klaus von Osteen was now the highest-ranking judge of the Munich courts. He had started off as the wastrel son of a famous noble family related to the English royal family. Though he had been a German officer during the war, there was no record of his having joined the Nazi party. Shortly before the end of the war he had been severely wounded and that had apparently turned him into a new man at the age of forty-three. Back in civilian life he had studied law and had become one of the best lawyers in Germany. He had then entered the political arena as a moderate and a supporter of the American entente in Europe. Great things were expected of him; it was possible that he might even become the chancellor of West Germany. He had the support of the German industrialists and the American occupation authorities, and a magnetic influence over the working classes as a superb orator.
Rogan nodded grimly. “That sounds like the guy. He had a terrific voice, sincere as hell. The bastard really covered his tracks, though.”
Rosalie said anxiously, “Are you sure this is the right man?”
“It’s the right one; it has to be,” Rogan said. “How could Eric and Hans hit on the same name unless it was the truth?” He paused.